The night he forced his way in ended it all for Annabelle. She was with
a client when Stanworth burst through the door to her room. With an anguished
yell he grasped the gold Lion head of his walking stick and gave the shaft
a flip revealing a thin sharp blade as the rest of the cane crashed against
the wall. He started for the bed, the blade aimed at the client's back.
She rolled them both off the bed just an instant before the blade went clear
through the thick heavy mattress. Both, stark naked, were on their feet
now as Stanworth pulled the blade from the bed and turned to them. His rage
overtook his reason. With the look of a mad man he lunged at them on the
run. It was Annabelle's piercing scream that diverted his eyes for the split
second it took the client to sidestep the uncontrolled thrust. Stanworth
could not control his forward movement. That, along with the double fisted
blow delivered to his back by the client sent Stanworth through the large
bay window, franticly clawing at the drapes to stop the fall. It was three
floors, and below stood the spear-like iron pickets of the fence, two of
which went through his body.

Annabelle's influence and position went out the window with Stanworth.
The "Bosses" left her high and dry as did her influential customers,
not wanting to become involved in the scandal that ensued. The authorities
closed the house. Lawsuits for negligence brought by Stanworth's family
took most of her money and the authorities confiscated the rest as ill-gotten
gains. She was cleaned out, almost. They knew nothing of her New York
investments. It took three month of bargaining and negotiations in New
York to free up her money. She took some losses but still came out with
a handsome profit and a letter of credit to the Mercantile Bank of Boston.

That spring in Boston was perfect. The snow melted early and the weather
was milder and dryer than any spring that could be remembered. Warm spring
breezes lifted and filled the curtains of the apartment like the sails
of the clipper ships she had so often seen entering San Francisco Bay.
Annabelle was feeling as warm and breezy as the day as she busily prepared
tea for the real estate broker she expected momentarily. She was grateful
to be in Boston with the tribulations of the west behind her.

The harsh ring of the rotary doorbell traveled through the hall into
the kitchen. Annabelle lifted the silver tray and hurried along the hall
to the front door, detouring long enough to deposit the tea service in
the parlor. Mr. Harkness greeted her with, for his subdued Boston manner,
considerable excitement. The property he described in Stockbridge Vermont
sounded perfect for her new venture. It was at the junction of two main
roads. One road cut through the center of the state from Massachusetts
north to Newport. The other road ran east to west from Bethel and on to
Rutland, where one could catch the Burlington - Rutland Railroad. The
inn would be in the path of most business travelers in the state. Mr.
Harkness assured her that it was the perfect place for the inn Annabelle
had described to him; heavily traveled and in an area that was just starting
to prosper from the lumber industry and the businesses it supplied. His
description of the 87 acres of woods, pasture and hills along with the
proximity to highly traveled roads stimulated her imagination. In her
mind Annabelle could see the inn building, transported from the architectural
drawing to the roadside in Vermont; its many rooms, the large barn and
carriage house and the bright solarium where breakfast would be served.
She exclaimed "It's perfect Mr. Harkness. I'll take it."

Over the rest of spring and into early fall land was cleared and graded,
contractors and workmen were hired and construction continued. Early on
Annabelle had written letters to the cook and housekeeper who had been
with her in California asking them to join her in a new adventure. They
responded with delight. The groom and stable keeper would be hired locally
as would any others required for the smooth running of the inn. She hired
Mr. Harkness to oversee and manage the contractors and legal matters that
surround such an undertaking.

And so it happened, on another sun soaked October day in Vermont, as it
had so long ago. The life of Annabelle Mac Alister took another major
turn. The Inn had its official opening on October 17 1872. Annabelle's
was an instant attraction to not only travelers but many in the area and
throughout New England. Her reputation as a gracious hostess with magnificent
food and drink spread rapidly from traveler to traveler and then to their
friends and families. At times in the late summer and early fall, she
would even have families staying for extended periods.

One afternoon, soon after the opening of the inn, a man carrying the
ever present sample case establishing him as a salesman, entered the separate
door to the public section of the inn that housed the bar. As he walked
to the bar he passed Annabelle checking receipts at the cash drawer. Smoke
from his pipe wafted close to Annabelle. The aroma took her mind back
to the day Jacob had lit the first bowl of "Vermont Virginia";
the mind being what it is. Upon inquiring about the tobacco, the man told
Annabelle how he bought it at the a store in West Barnet; that he was
told it was only grown locally so he bought several pounds of whole leaf
– enough he hoped to last until his next time through Vermont.

Mr. Harkness was immediately summoned and told to prepare for a trip
in the morning. Annabelle directed the way to the old Mc Alister farm
while Mr. Harkness drove the buggy. She introduced herself to the present
owners and briefly related the early history of her family and farm, stressing
the importance of the tobacco to the family and area residence. She learned
that much of each year's crop was plowed under but seeds were always harvested.
Annabelle offered to purchase the entire dried crop each year with a promise
to always supply the general store at West Barnet. The offer was gratefully
accepted. When the tobacco was delivered, several stalks were hung over
the fireplace in the public room to stimulate curiosity and questions.
Samples were rubbed out, measured and packaged then, freely distributed
to pipe smokers as the came for a drink. Sales flourished while experienced
smokers exclaimed the virtues of the mild and earthy yet sweet "Vermont
Virginia". The U. S. Mail would occasionally bring a bank draft and
an order for the tobacco from all over New England.

As she once again prospered, detectives were hired to locate the other
Mac Alister children. Two had died. Others were spread around New England
and, from time to time, they came together at Annabelle's for a reunion.
As for Hank, he was traced to Denver, then to Texas and New Mexico. The
detectives brought back stories of lawlessness and of fleeing to Mexico
and on to Central America, just one step ahead of the law.

Annabelle's success continued under her capable management and the counsel
of Mr. Harkness, with whom a deep and lasting friendship developed. Mr.
Harkness never returned to Boston. After eight years of slow recovery
since the end of the Civil War, the state was finally emerging from the
devastating poverty left by the war and opportunities abounded. He gained
a reputation in the area as a competent businessman and, upon the completion
of Annabelle's, received several offers to manage similar projects and
to act as a commissioned agent to locate property.

Annabelle was content at last; happy and felt a peace she had not known
since she left Vermont so long ago. She never married; there were suitors,
of course, most looking for a soft touch. Legend has it that the friendship
between she and Mr. Harkness went much deeper for he spent most of his
spare time at the inn. Later, as the inn grew, he moved his office there
and took a room. We will never know if it was an enduring love affair
or simply a close life long friendship. Her popularity and prominence
fostered various rumors regarding her closely guarded life. For the next
forty years Annabelle Mac Alister lived a contented life filled with loyal
and loving friends and family -- and Mr. Harkness who was seldom now seen
without his small Calabash – a gift from Annabelle – and volumes
of smoke from the now famous but mysterious Vermont Virginia.

The New Years party heralding the coming of 1912 was a wonderful occasion
at Annabelle's. She invited over one hundred dignitaries, family and friends
and enjoyed the party greatly.
Particular delight was taken in the little ones, grand nieces and nephews.

Three days into the New Year Annabelle was "sick-a-bed" with
influenza. The illness worsened and in a week was diagnosed as pneumonia.
At age seventy-two her heart was too weak to rally and she died January
14, 1912.

It is said, that according to her wishes, Annabelle was laid to rest
on a favorite hilltop somewhere on the remaining nine acres of her beloved
land. The ceremony was very private including only family and an aging,
very forlorn Mr. Harkness.

And, there you have it. Take it as you will. Who knows what is fact or
legend? How does one separate one from the other when a story emanates
from a land so abundant in rich history and magnificent characters. What
is indisputable however, is man’s spirit; the spirit of courage
and perseverance and the ability to conquer overwhelming odds in the search
for life.

Ernie Whitenack was born in 1928 in Springfield,
Illinois and moved to Massachusetts in the mid 1930's. He is a Korean
War veteran, worked as a photographic illustrator for 43 years and is
now retired.